The Ginny Chronicles
by Casca
Summary: WIP, H/G, Ginny POV. Ginny battles with her conscience over her feelings for Harry. Chapter 4 now up! This fic is now COMPLETED!! R/R
1. Declaration of Love

**Title**:  The Ginny Chronicles

**Author**: Casca Casccara@yahoo.com

**Classification**: Ginny POV, H/G, R/H implied

**Summary**:  Ginny and her conscience have a battle.

**Spoilers**: Eventually, yes

**Rating**: PG

**Disclaimer:** All characters and names used in these fics are the legal property and creative work of JK Rowling and/or Warner Bros.  We are not making any profit on these fics - just having fun. :) We will be forever grateful to Ms. Rowling for providing us with this veritable playground for our imaginations.

****

****

**_-The Ginny Chronicles-_**

I watch Harry across the common room.  He's laughing at Ron and Hermione, although Ron and Hermione are doing nothing to be funny- they're only having a conversation, but I can see why Harry finds it entertaining. The conversations that occur between those two love-birds usually end on some stupid fight in which one of them winds up storming out of the room, causing the other to either tut furiously (Hermione) or mouth off soundlessly (Ron).  Personally I think they're pathetic, but I choose not to voice this in fear of hurting Hermione's feelings.  

Besides, I can only dream of being so pathetic with the boy I love.

_You are pathetic,_ that stupid voice in the back of my mind tells me. I hate this voice. _What do you think it means to sit in a corner watching the same boy for six years, dreaming of the day when he FINALLY looks at you?  Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic!_

Oh, shut _up_! I tell the voice, but I secretly fear this annoying voice knows everything.  Harry'll come around, he has to.  And if he doesn't-  **__**

**And if he doesn't? Hmmm? Then what?  You've wasted your childhood away, Virginia Weasley, do you plan on wasting your adult-life, as well?

I furrow my brow and ignore the voice- I really and truly don't want to think about the fact that I'm in my sixth year at Hogwarts and I have spent the whole of my school career pining for Harry Potter.  I do not want to think about the fact that I've virtually given up every chance presented to me to spend time with other boys in the fear that Harry would think I am over him.  See, the twisted part about me, and I admit it, is that while I live with the fact that Harry doesn't know I'm alive most of the time—it must be very clear to him that I am in love with him.  Therefore, when he does come around- he won't hesitate to tell me his feelings… right?

Before the incredibly mean voice can answer me, I nod my head firmly and open my notebook to begin my Divination homework, which makes absolutely no sense, I might add.  

Across the room, Harry lets out a sharp bark of laughter and I, along with several other people, turn to see what the commotion is.  The game of Exploding Snap has blasted in Ron's face and he's covered with black ash.  Harry laughs along with Seamus and Neville as Ron, grinning, shakes off the ash and returns to the card game.  Harry deals the next hand, his head bent, his eyes still laughing.

I sigh and study his shock of black hair and piercing green of his eyes. The color of his eyes amazes me so.  It is bright, bottle green, no hint of blue, no hint of brown, pure green.  I chew the end of my quill, willing him to look over at me.

And, as always, my internal battles go unnoticed by him.

**Pathetic!  You should go over there and join the card game, give him a reason to look at you. Why are you so unlike yourself around him?  The real Ginny Weasley would have made herself noticeable, not sit in a corner waiting!

No!  I don't want to aid him in his realization that he loves me. I want him to look of his own desire and watch me the way I watch him… 

**Ew! And I thought you were only a pathetic sixteen- year-old girl!  You're also a DENSE sixteen-year-old girl!  Do you really think he'll notice you if you do nothing?  Go and tell him how you feel!  Go and make a statement!  Ask him to that Ball that's coming up, ask him to spend time in Hogsmeade! This isn't the old days, get up and get things started!

But I can't!  If it were any other boy, sure, I could be more noticeable… But this is Harry! I don't want to force Harry into anything.  He has enough to worry about and being so forward may make him uncomfortable.

**That's just as pathetic as you sitting here watching him! Treat him with kid gloves and he won't think of you any differently than he does the whole lot of people who stare at his scar and mumble about him.

But-

**No "buts." Go over there and do it!

I can't!

**WHY?

Because!

**WHY NOT?

Because I'm scared he'll say no! Because I'm scared he still won't look at me!  I'm so scared he'll just look right past me like he does now.  Pathetic, I know, but I would rather sit here watching him and hoping for him than being hurt by him.

Well that certainly shut the voice up.  And because I feel tears in the back of my eyes, I start to gather my things to go upstairs.  The tears shame me—I've never shed them for Harry, never once.  When the temptations have gotten the better of me and all I ever want to do is crawl under my covers and have a good cry over the boy's stupidity, I force myself not to.  I've developed a rather incredible strength in the process, and I'm actually quite glad for it.  It's the only thing Harry has ever given me: a firm sense of willpower. 

I pile my books into my bag, swing it over my shoulder and walk to the staircase leading to the girl's dormitories.  And because I'm weak when it comes to him, I look over once again.  The card game continues… Ron and Hermione are arguing again… and Harry's grin is a mile wide.  

I suddenly feel sick to my stomach.  I'm about to burst into tears and he's over there grinning, completely oblivious to me.  I've been hurt by him before and I've been disappointed, oh yes, more disappointed than I care to admit to myself.  And he's made me angry at times, that I will admit.  However, never have I felt such wrath, such an enraged sense of resentment that I do at this very moment. The intensity of it is squeezing its way into my heart—I feel like marching up to him and slapping the grin off his face. Or kissing it off his face, whichever would have the bigger effect. 

I do neither.  

But I am marching up to him, walking with purposeful strides and people's head are staring to turn in my direction.  I stop just in front of him— he glances up at me from the hand of cards he's holding and when he views my face, an uneasy look comes into his eyes.  It gives me the strength I need.

"Harry Potter, you are so STUPID!" I bellow.  I watch his mouth drop open, giving me even more strength and to my complete horror and utter delight, I continue.  "Do you even know how long I've sat in that corner watching you?  Do you?  Well, I'll tell you! All night, every night, for six years. At school, at home, all over the place!  And do you know what I've done it for? Nothing!  Because you are still the same dense prat who never even LOOKS AT ME!"  I am shrieking now and Harry has gone pale.  His face looks, quite frankly, terrified.  

I realize that I've said what I need to say and before the reality of what I've just done can begin to sink in, I snap my chin up, look down at him and speak in a clear, dignified voice.  "I'm sorry for disrupting your card game, but I just needed to say that. Good night."

And with that I turn on my heel and march back the way I came, passed Ron's horrified look, Hermione's astonished grin, and the round eyes and open mouths of every singe occupant of the common room.  It's pretty easy, I discover, to ignore them all when I'm about to pass out from shock.  As I approach the staircase, I hear a loud noise and I jump.  Then I realize someone is clapping.  I pause in front of the staircase, my back to everyone and bite my lip hard on a grin. The entire room has burst into laughter and scattered applause and I can hear a voice call out, "Potter, you stupid prat!" 

I have to stand there for a minute, because I feel my knees go week.  But then I find the strength, not from anything Harry does, but within myself, to lift my head again and walk up to the dormitory, happy now that I'm the one grinning and he's the one left thinking.

To Be Continued…

I Love Feedback!

Casccara@yahoo.com

More fice by Casca at:

The  Hidden Tower

http://hiddentower.50megs.com


	2. What's in a Look?

**Title**:  The Ginny Chronicles

**Author**: Casca **mailto:Casccara@yahoo.com**

**Classification**: H/G, Ginny POV

**Summary**:  Ginny and her conscience battle out her life.

**Spoilers**: Eventually, yes, through "Goblet."

**Rating**: PG (for now)

**Disclaimer:** All characters and names used in these fics are the legal 

property and creative work of JK Rowling and/or Warner Bros.  

I'm just having some great fun with them. :) 

Note: Ten points to whoever can come up with the fictional red-headed young girl who originally said the last three words of this fic!

           ~**_The Ginny Chronicles~ _**

           I wake up the morning after my "Revelation to Harry" episode not feeling quite as horrid as I imagined I would.  Last night after making my escape from the confines of the common room, I laid in bed contemplating either running away from Hogwarts, faking ill, or committing suicide.  Now, being the smart girl that I am, I only gave the last contemplation one tiny passing thought, but the other two seemed quite honestly very possible and the various ways of going about each of them plagued my dreams.

           However, at this moment, I am getting out of bed, adjusting my robes, and staring at my reflection in the oval mirror that hangs over my bed.  A freckly face, rather plain brown-eyed girl looks back at me and I wish the vision held more appeal and, to use a phrase I overheard someone say about Madam Rosmerta once, more "za za zing."  I fear that looking ordinary is not good when you've just declared your undying love to the boy who's unwillingly held your heart in his hands for the past seven years.  I worry that freckles and plain brown eyes just don't fit with a girl who is brave enough to announce her feelings to her heart's desire in front of the entire Gryffindor House.

_Brave?_ That overzealous voice in my head begins.  _Was that really bravery you showed last night?_

I'd like to think so. I am in Gryffindor, after all, and bravery suits all Gryffindors.

_So, Harry may appreciate it, then?_

"Ha!" I say aloud and cause several of my friends to glance my way.  They probably think I've gone insane, for I never spoke to them after my "Stand Up and Declare" episode last night.  For all they know, I have no clue what in blazing hell I said down there and was acting under the influence of some crazed love potion.

Oh, well.

I am back to the mirror, back to plain old Ginny Weasley and I am shocked by the furious disgust I feel at my reflection. I have never once been angry about my looks because they are mine and there isn't anything I can do about them.  They were fine when I could be invisible to the important people, mainly Harry.  However, I had to go and open my stupid mouth and unleash my feelings onto Him.  He who has never looked at me, never seen me and because I had to go have another one of my Episode's, he just may look today.  

I groan inwardly, the old butterflies finding their way into my stomach as they always do.  I reach for my hair band and automatically begin pulling my curse of siren-red hair back into it's usual ponytail when I pause in mid-motion, my eyes still on my reflection.  Slowly, as if I am testing myself, I let free the hair I've pulled away from my face and watch it tumble to my shoulders.  I've been leisurely growing my hair back to it's original length after a very scary, scissor-happy episode of Ginny Needs A New Hairstyle two years ago. My carrot-head was now past my shoulders and part-way down my back, something between wavy and strait and full and flat.  I grab the comb out of my trunk and began yanking it through the long locks mercilessly and after counting fifty of these eye-watering strokes; I give my head a hard shake and watch my wavy mane fall into place.

The butterflies have started up again, and this time about thirty of their friends have joined in.  _I look pretty,_ I think and take a shaking breath.  Prettier than I did yesterday, at least.  Too bad it takes Harry to bring out my pretty side.

_Is that why you're making yourself pretty?  Because of Harry?_

Well, duh.  Why else would I chose today of all days to let my hair down?  If he's going to be looking at me, at least let him look at the pretty me.

_So you're wondering what he'll think about your "new look?"_

Well, it's not a 'new look.' After all, Harry's seen me with my hair down before, plenty of times.

_Yes, but never knowing what he knows now_.

He's always known.  He's always chosen not to look.

_Has he really known?_

Of course he's known! Everyone's known for years and any thoughts that may have lead them to believe otherwise are now null and void. 

My heart sinks into my stomach to join the butterflies as I grab my bag and open the door to head down to the breakfast table where he awaits.

I enter the Great Hall minutes later, hair spilling over my shoulders in what I hope is a wind-blown, effortless fashion.  I am shaking down to the bone, however, not showing my feelings have been a sincere part of me for quite a few years now and I have no troubles hiding my trembling hands.  I can see the Gryffindor table and my heart sinks even further in the pit of nerves.  Harry is sitting with Ron and Hermione and there are many, many seats free around them.  I realize that I had been sub-consciously hoping that there would be no seat within a ten mile radius of Harry available, but as fate has often illustrated, I never get what I hope for. 

_Put your head up_, the voice snaps and for once I am glad it's there.  

Chin up, I walk to the table, past the first, second and third years, past my fellow sixth years and right down to the end where Hermione is sitting across from Harry and Ron.  She smiles up at me as I approach and scoots over slightly on the bench to indicate that she wants me to sit next to her.  Not for the first time in my life, I feel a surge of gratitude towards Hermione. It may have been a very subtle gesture, but it meant everything to me at that moment.

I place what I hope is an effortless, carefree smile on my face and slide onto the bench next to her.  My brother looks as if he's about to explode and as his eyes dart from me to Harry to Hermione and back again.  I really wish I could take out my wand and cast a very deliberate, very foul curse on him. 

Harry's looking at me. There is no mistaking the source of the shivers racing down my spine and my heart beating against my ribs.  I order the blood to stay far away from my cheeks as I glance up and look directly in his eyes. He doesn't look away and even though I can hear the thudding of my heart in my ears, I know that he cannot.

"Hi," I say in a very clear and very kind voice, my eyes never leaving his.  

Harry stays silent but continues to look at me, those liquid green pools staring right into my soul.  My face is now burning and as the true embarrassment of last night begins to creep up on me, my gaze falters.

_Put your eyes back on him and make him look away first!_

But I don't think I could bear it if he looks away-

_Do it!_

So I lock my eyes on his and Harry gives me a little nod, his eyes crinkling slightly, his mouth turning up at corners in 

a tiny smile.  

"Hey," he says.

My heart splits into two, and I can practically see the pieces fall onto the table for everyone to witness.

"Wow, Ginny, I had no idea your hair had gotten so long!"

I swallow hard and turn to Hermione.  "Yeah," I say and want to scream at my stupid voice for shaking even if it was only faintly.  

"I like it," Hermione is saying. I meet her eyes and they give me strength.

"I do, too," I say and she smiles at me knowingly. It feels simply lovely knowing I can share this with her, even if I am about to faint from the intensity of The Look.   

The rest of the Gryffindors arrive at breakfast and every last one of the girls glance in my direction before their eyes take an unmistakable tour to Harry.  They notice our positions directly across from each other and the wheels in their heads are no doubt turning.

I barely see them; I am in another world. 

He looked at me.  He actually looked at me.  Not a glance.  Not a glimpse.  A real look that lasted more than a split second.  

So why am I not happy?  I glance over to Harry and Ron who are now talking very animatedly about why they hate Potions and I can't get the look on his face out of my mind.  Why am I not grinning stupidly or giggling or doing something other girls would do when the boys they like smile at them?  Why do I feel closer to tears than I ever have before?

_Are you scared?_

Scared of what?  What could I possibly be scared of?  It's Harry and I've wanted him to look my way for so long.  

_Well, he looked._

I know.  He looked and I will never be the same again.  

_Why?_

WHY?!  Because it's Harry!  And now I have no clue what to do! 

_Perhaps you can talk about it with him?_

WHAT!? Never, oh, never!

_Shouting it out in front of a whole slew of people, you can do, but a simple conversation is NEVER?_

That sounds a bit right.  Last night was a fluke- if I had been in my natural mind-

_You regret saying what you did last night?_

NO. No, I don't regret it.  I needed to say it.  No matter what happens, he needed to hear those things from me. 

_So… _

So… I… I'm afraid…There, I said it, I'm afraid.

_Of…_

Of… I honestly don't know.  

I glance up as the benches began to scrape the tiled floor and Harry, Ron and Hermione stand.  "Bye," I mumble without looking up and they do the same.

Except for Harry.  "Bye, Ginny," he says as he looks at me again.  

My eyes are raising to meet his and I have no idea how it's happening. "Bye, then," I say in a soft, pretty little voice that has Harry's eyes lingering on mine for a moment before he turns to leave.

My heart has sunk into my stomach and is doing very deliberate flip-flops.

Twice. That's twice he looked at me, twice he deliberately looked at me and kept looking after he'd seen me.  How am I supposed to deal with this?  And how am I to rationalize that Harry finally looking at me has thrown me headfirst into the depths of despair…_?_

To Be Continued…

Back to the Hidden Tower

Feedback is welcome!

**mailto:Casccara@yahoo.com**


	3. He Said My Name

**Title**:  The Ginny Chronicles

**Author**: Casca **mailto:Casccara@yahoo.com**

**Classification**: H/G, Ginny POV

**Summary**:  Ginny and her conscience battle out her life.

**Spoilers**: Eventually, yes, through "Goblet."

**Rating**: PG (for now)

**Disclaimer:** All characters and names used in these fics are the legal 

property and creative work of JK Rowling and/or Warner Bros.  

I'm just having some great fun with them. :) 

          ~**_The Ginny Chronicles~ _**

          Harry looked at me five times today.  Five times, _five times_!  And, no, I'm not merely speaking about the kind of looks your older brother's best friend gives you—I'm talking about the kind of looks that leave a girl breathless.  Pensive, thoughtful looks that make a girl want to pull her hair out and run for her life.  But the girl can't do any such thing because his eyes are _locked_ on hers and she has no way of breaking that gaze, that connection she dreamt of being the recipient of for _six_ _long_ years.

          The first Look happened at breakfast this morning, the morning after my Progress and Profess Episode in the common room last night. The other Looks happened throughout the day at various whimsical moments.  At lunch, passing in the hall, at dinner, earlier right here in the Gryffindor Common Room. 

I fear that the entire school must think I am quite dense.  I know I would think a girl was dense if she were to suddenly stop whatever she was doing and stare into space, with various odd looks running across her face.  I indeed had several of these episodes in numerous intervals during the day.  During these episodes, the fact that Harry Potter was looking at me would simply _occur _to me-- for no particular reason other than the hair at the back of my neck would stand on end and the ever-present butterflies would make their star appearance and I would stop doing whatever I was doing- be it walking or talking- and look up to find where he was and which particular Look he was gracing me with at that particular time.

          Each and every Look is embedded in my mind- I forced myself to memorize them and implant them into my brain— it really was quite useless, see, because his face is a permanent fixture of my heart.  However, my foolish mind seemed to fear that I would forget the Looks and therefore cause much destruction in my life on this day… this day where the world is upside down and I am the cause of it.  

This meant that many of my classes suffered in the mean time.  Professor Flitwick inquired if their was anything bothering me as I stared at him with my mouth open, my wand raised to perform the Scouring Charm and sitting there like a dunce… frozen… thinking about the most recent Look, the one that was granted in the corridor just before class.

And Harry's voice, oh, that soft deep voice… it sends shivers down my spine… I was hearing that voice _all day_.

          That voice said my name four times.  Four times in one day, Harry said the word "Ginny." Last summer, he said my name four times in one month and I can remember the exact moment, the exact place, and the exact state of insanity I underwent. 

So to tally up the events of my day: Harry looked at me five times (_really _looked, did I mention that?) and Harry said my name four times. The tally is higher than it has ever been and I should be happy and ecstatic and jump up and down and rush to tell Hermione.  It's something I should write home to my Mum with because I know she would be so very proud. 

Then why, oh why, oh _why_ am I sitting here in this vacant common room at 2 am, unable to sleep?  Why have I avoided being alone with Hermione all day in fear that she might be happier about Harry's attention towards me than I am?  

Why am I so scared?

_What do you think?_

There you are, right on schedule.  

_Seriously, what do you think?_

          I think I'm going loony listening to you.

          _What are you scared of?_

          No clue.

          _Really? Come on, think._

          I sigh and rub my tired eyes.  The massive fire of the common room cackles and sparks in front of me. I suppose I'm wondering why he _is_ looking at me.  I mean, why all of a sudden?

          _Your declaration was quite suddenly, at least in his eyes.   _

I don't want these looks to happen because of what I said last night! I want him to look by himself.

_To late, you started it_.

Arg. I suppose I did, didn't I?  Dim-witted fool, that's what I am.  

_Stop it._

           Well, I am.  I should have thought of the consequences of my actions.

          _Didn't you?_

          Well, obviously I didn't.  I never expected this.  

          _Didn't you?_

          No!  Er, well, I suppose, maybe, perhaps, I _did_ want this… at least I thought I wanted this.  

Wait a minute! I sit up strait and my eyes are wide.  Perhaps this isn't really happening! Perhaps Harry isn't looking at me!  Perhaps I am simply imagining it!  That has to be it!  I've spent years taking apart his every careless glance and perhaps today…

          Oh, but the picture of his face, his green, green eyes gazing at me this morning flashes across my mind and it's enough to make me weep just _thinking_ he's not looking.  I want him to look so bad it makes everything inside me hurt.  

He was looking… wasn't he?

_Yes, he was._

And he did say my name four times… right?

          _Yes, he did_.

The relief floods through me and I smile weekly at the fire.  He did look… even if it may not be in the circumstances I've always dreamt of. 

Insert scene where I walk with my flowing scarlet tresses into a room at home. Harry's just arrived for the summer and he looks up and, with a jolt, he sees that I have grown, oh, so beautiful in the time we were apart since the previous term. I am not Little Ginny Weasley anymore and he must get to know me as the real person that I am.  We stare at each other and Harry realizes his love one night when the two of us cannot sleep and are sitting on the back porch of my house and I am carelessly pretty and we are talking and laughing about little nothings…

Why, why, _why_ couldn't it have been like that?  Why couldn't I have kept my stupid, loud mouth _shut_ and waited a while longer?  What is my big, dim-witted DEAL?

And all of a sudden my breath has caught in my throat. Harry has just appeared right in front of me out of _thin air_.  I am on my feet, screaming in terror and he whips around and draws his wand in one swift motion.  I see his wand pointed to my chest and his intense green eyes looking very capable of murder. 

"Ginny?!" 

_That makes five_, I think madly, as I grip the back of the chair in fright. 

His vivid eyes focus on me and the murderous look that is sending ice through my body is disappearing very slowly and is now replaced with relief. I notice, that he is carrying some sort of silver looking cloak over his arm and I recognize what it is.  An Invisibility Cloak.

"Where…" I ask stupidly, not knowing what I intended to say.  "How…"

Harry takes a deep breath and lifts up his cloak. "I didn't see you, sorry.  I was just… coming in."

"Oh," I breath and desperately want to ask him where he's been all night.  But in fear he wouldn't tell me, I stay silent.

My eyes are locked onto his all of a sudden but I break away quickly at what I see. There's a longing in them, and this goes far and beyond anything he's feeling for me… he's longing for something, something I know he needs… something he was quite obviously searching for tonight… 

Would you like to sit with me? I want to ask. Would you like to tell me what's in your heart, what's making you hurt?  Do you want to tell me how your eyes can look ready to kill one moment and so, so sad, the next?  

_He doesn't want you here_.

I know. That's what I've been fearing, I suppose.

He can't help it… you know he can't help but pull away… from everyone, not just you…

I wanted to be special.  I wanted him to let me in, but I don't think he will ever allow me inside his heart…

Perhaps he's scared, as well… 

I know he is.

I sigh softly at the truth and force myself to give him a smile.  "I was just about to go off to bed. Good night, Harry."

"Goodnight, Ginny," he says very softly.

Six is a beautiful, glorious number.  

I start walking towards the stairs, and see that he is sitting now and watching the fire as I had done.  I want to tell him things, I want him to listen to me and forgot about his pain… I want… 

"Harry?" I asked softly.

He turns to me and my heart simply melts. 

I love you, I want to say.  I would do anything for you.

However, my declaration isn't appropriate now.  It may have been acceptable last night with a room full of people… but not now, not when we are alone and his heart is showing in his eyes.  Some things, quite simply, cannot be said. 

"Sweet dreams," I say softly and wish it for him from the bottom of my heart.

His eyes lock onto mine again and the emotions are naked in them. " 'Night," he mutters, and his throaty voice seems to flow through my blood.

I turn then, as I had the night before, and walk up the stairs to go to bed. 

To Be Continued…

Back to the Hidden Tower

Feedback is welcome!

**mailto:Casccara@yahoo.com**


	4. A Girl Who Swoons

**Title**:  The Ginny Chronicles

**Author**: Casca Casccara@yahoo.com

**Classification**: Ginny POV, H/G

**Summary**:  Ginny and her conscience have a battle.

**Spoilers**: Naw.

**Rating**: PG

**Disclaimer:** All characters and names used in these fics are the legal property and creative work of JK Rowling and/or Warner Bros.  We are not making any profit on these fics - just having fun. :) We will be forever grateful to Ms. Rowling for providing us with this veritable playground for our imaginations.

A/N: Sorry it took so long to get this out… this chapter went through MANY revisions.  ;)

_~A Girl Who Swoons~_

"Harry Potter is a complete prat."

            I almost gasp.  My mouth opens in outrage from my position in the bathroom stall. I narrow my eyes. Who is talking about my Harry like that?  I realize that I called him a prat to his face only last week, but nobody else is allowed to do it.  At least, nobody who happens to be _female_.

            I let out a quiet sigh, and want to reach out and click the latch to get a look at the witch, whoever she was, but I don't.  I admit that standing here in this bathroom stall, listening to other girls talk about my Harry is not the best way to spend my Saturday, but I'm frozen with curiosity.  

How do I get myself into these episodes?

            _You have a special talent for it._

            I suppose I do have a certain flair for compromising situations.  I'm still living a few of them down.  

_Like yelling for all the world that you love Harry Potter and that he is a prat for not noticing you?_

            Yes, that was an exceptionally compromising situation, I think vaguely and quiet my thoughts to listen.

            "I know," another girl is sighing dramatically and I recognize her voice. She's a fifth year who is on the Gryffindor Quidditch team and she's very popular and very beautiful. Dark hair, light blue eyes… I've envied her eyes quite a few times. 

"He's so handsome…"

My eyebrows shoot up.  Yes, he _is_, I want to say threateningly.

            "He doesn't even show any interest in girls."

            "He's too busy thinking about fighting the Dark Lord and all that."

            "He's a warrior, that's for sure." 

            They erupted into giggles and I feel myself getting sick.  I'm grateful for the toilet right next to me.

            "Has he ever had a girlfriend?" the one I don't recognize asks.

            "Nope, as far I know, he hasn't. He has to ask someone to the ball, though, right?" 

            "Hmm.  Last year he went alone, I think. If only…"

            "If only…"

            "His eyes… they're like—"  
            "Sapphires… "  

            "Yeah…"

            Sapphires are blue, you idiots; his eyes are green, the color of emeralds, only darker.  I should know— they've been on _me_ for the better part of the week.  I feel the blood rushing to my face.  Well, they have, no sense in denying it, is there?  I almost giggle, but catch myself.  

            The past week, I've had time to get used to the idea of Harry's eyes being on me.  And even though I've spent the entire week with my face contorted in a silent scream after my encounters with him, I've actually calmed down quite a bit. I've also talked with Hermione about it.  One night during a wonderfully violent thunderstorm, she and I sat up talking for hours in our nightdresses braving a box of Bertie Botts.  I told her about my fears and she told me that they were not unfounded.  She told me that they were natural and that there wasn't anything I could do about them with the exception of talking to someone.  So I talked to her and she made me feel as if they weren't life shattering.  She told me that she wasn't going to get in the middle of Harry's and my relationship (when she said the word relationship, I stood up and yelled "Don't say relationship, it makes me scared all over again!") _but _she said that Harry talks about me.  That's all she would say and I almost cursed her with a Tickling Charm until she talked some more (actually, I only threatened, I understand that she can't get in the middle; Harry is her best friend after all).  I also asked Hermione if Harry talked about me to Ron (even the thought makes me cringe fiercely in my stall) and she smiled mysteriously and started giggling but she wouldn't say anything!  What does _that _mean?  I didn't dwell on it, I had other things to dream about …

            Harry talks about me.  Talks about me when I'm not there… and you know what that means?  Ahem.  Harry must _think_ about me.  Oh, goodness me, I feel faint in this bathroom stall.  Will the fainting episodes ever _end?_  I'm _about_ to faint all the time, I wonder if I will ever actually do it.  Oh, well, perhaps Harry would catch me, after all, he does look at me now, it's quite plausible he'll be looking when I swoon.

            Swoon.  My mother always said I was a girl who swoons, and it's isn't until now that I realize what she meant. 

            Because I am quite sick of being in this stall, I roll my eyes at the incessant talk about how _blue _Harry's eyes are and I push open the door to the stall and emerge.

            The girls glance at me and their eyes widen as I smile at them and walk up to the sink.  I see one of them mouth "Is THAT-?" and the other girl nods fervently.  They both look gleefully sinful.

            Ugh.  They're thinking about my Declaration of Love last week.  They must have been there. How sweet. And how utterly _dreadful_ that I should overhear them talking about Harry.  I want to tell them that I'm proud of what I did and that Harry has looked at me and spoken to me more than he ever has because of it.  But I smile cheerfully and push my way out of the bathroom upon a huge explosion of giggles.

            "Stupid girls," I mutter and toss my hair back.  And music starts playing in my head for Harry is standing in front of me.

            I feel like swooning.  But I say, "Hi," and smile.

            He smiles back.  The music gets louder.

            I wonder why he's standing there, leaning against the wall, outside a girls' bathroom, all alone.  "Waiting for someone?" I ask with a slight grin and my eyes glance at the Lady's Restroom sign. I realize at once that I'm flirting. Well, maybe not flirting _exactly_, but… I am being slightly witty, aren't I?

            His grin flashes.  "Yeah… you."

            How do I _not _swoon, that is the question?  "Oh?"

            "Well, I," he looks at the floor, then at the wall, then back at me.  "I saw you go in there and I thought… well, Ron and Hermione are off"—he lifted a hand in a question—"and I thought you might like to have a game of chess or something…?"

            My heart is beating like the butterflies in my stomach.  Flutter, flutter, flutter.  I smile again.

            The door to the restroom opens then and the fifth year girls saunter out, their faces more colorful than they'd been before.  Their mouths drop open when they see Harry and me, then they dissolve into laughter and scamper away.

            I roll my eyes again and turn back to Harry.  "I'd love a game."  

But his eyes are narrowed at the girls. "What was that about?"

            Don't waste those gorgeous eyes on them, look at me some more.  "Nothing. Chess?" 

            He turns back and when he looks at me, he grins.  "Chess."

            I make him grin, I think recklessly and walk with him to Gryffindor Tower to have a game.

            My chess pieces hate me.  They think I'm dense, but the fact remains that they've only ever played against Ron's men who are so brutal, that my pieces are constantly yelling in pain at some dashing checkmate of Ron's.  They've taken to yelling at me through the years and I often wonder why I don't just toss them all into the lake.  

"What are you DOING?" shouts one of my men. "Can't you see his QUEEN?!  If you move me THERE, I'm DEAD in all of three moves."

"Maybe then you'll be quiet," I retort, but I move my pawn instead.  It must have been a bad move because the entire lot shrieks "NOOOOO!" and cover their faces in horror.

Harry's laughing so hard, he has to gasp out his order to his piece, which finishes off my pawn.  I look up at him and grin at his laughing face.  "It's a sad day when you _want_ to lose, so that your chess pieces get it!"

"It took a long time for my pieces to like me," Harry tells me sympathetically.  

"Dense braggart!" his knight confirms.

"I've had them since I was eight!" I exclaim and don't have time to stop and think that we are laughing together and that Harry's knee has just brushed mine.  We're having too much fun for me to stop and think.

At that moment, we are interrupted by a loud shrill giggle and we glance up to see Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown have just come through the portrait hole together.  They look at Harry and me with wide smiles; Parvati winks and Lavender grins broadly and gives me a thumbs up sign.

I close my eyes in embarrassment.  How could they be so _obvious?_  Don't they under_stand _that— My thoughts vanish when I look at Harry. His head is bent and his shoulders are shaking with silent laughter, obviously at the fact that outsiders are offering me _encouragement_.  He meets my gaze and grins sheepishly. I cringe, but I'm still grinning at my own ironic predicament.

His smile falters slightly and I see his cheeks go red.  Oh, goodness me, he's blushing.  I've made him blush. Because I'm about to explode, I break my gaze and grin foolishly at my chess pieces, who've slumped to the floor in boredom.  

The glorious tension does not go unnoticed by the other occupants of the room; a few people glance our way and grin a little, I hear Parvati and Lavender whisper, _"awwwwe!"_  But I don't care about them—I'm in my own wonderful, swooning world.  Harry is suddenly pushing the chessboard aside and standing up, he holds out his hand for me.  "Come on," he says with a half grin.  "Let's take a walk. You want to?"

_Do I WANT to?!?!_ "Okay." I try and try and _try_ not to sigh, but he doesn't remove his hand from mine after I stand, so I can't help the little breath my heart sends.  Hand in hand, we leave the common room and walk.

FIN

Review this fic!

Back to

The Hidden Tower


End file.
